


Tyger, Tyger

by eternaleponine



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few random bits of Archie's history from when he was very young.  Mostly just fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tyger, Tyger

"Dry your eyes," Nurse said, wiping at them with the corner of her apron. "There's a good lad. Ye don't want your aunt and uncle seeing ye bawlin' like a babe, do ye?" She brushed back his hair and forced a smile. "No, it won't do. Tha's to be a proper young gentleman now." Still, she fussed over him, making sure his jacket was straight and his stockings not bunching at the ankles. 

Archie just sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand, which earned him a gentle swat and a trip to the basin to wash it again. It had only just sunk in that his parents weren't going to come back. Despite having been told that they were dead, like the bird he'd found and thought to save back last spring, he'd persisted in thinking that they were just gone on holiday without him, and had sulked for the better part of the intervening days since the news of the carriage accident had arrived.

Today, though, his mother's sister and her husband, who was very important for some reason or other that Archie didn't grasp, would arrive from London for the funeral, and Mummy and Daddy would be put in the ground and the worms and bugs would eat them up...

The little boys burst into a fresh round of tears, so that when his relatives finally arrived, it was to find Archie curled in his nurse's lap, his collar sodden where tears had made their way down his cheeks before she could intervene. 

"My apologies, sir, mum," she said. "I'll have him put to rights presently." She put Archie on his feet and nudged him ahead of her to get him cleaned up once again. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Tha'll need to be brave, Archie. Tha can do that, I know. Just for a little while."

He nodded solemnly, and allowed himself to be led back into the other room, where his aunt and uncle were waiting, looking very grim and unfriendly, he thought. He reached for his aunt's hand, but she pulled away before he could touch her. "Come along," she said sharply, moving briskly back towards the door. He trailed in her wake obediently, glancing back at Nurse, who made a shooing motion with her hands. 

When it was all over (and he didn't cry, but only because he'd squeezed his eyes shut tight while they were being lowered into the ground and stuffed his fingers into his ears so he couldn't hear the rattle of earth as they were buried – very subtly, he thought, surely no one had noticed) they went back to the house, where Nurse was waiting. She had packed his case, and it was loaded into the carriage. 

"Do I still have to be brave now?" Archie asked in a tiny voice, looking up at her with wide eyes. "I don't think I'm very good at it."

"Just for a little while longer," she assured him, although it was hard to speak around the lump in her throat. "Tha'st a long carriage ride ahead, but then tha'll be in thy new home, and tha'll have your cousins for company. Tha'll forget all about this dreary place."

"Are you coming too?" he asked. 

"Oh no. No, tha'rt too old for a nurse now, Master Archie. I must stay here. There are other little boys need looking after, aren't there?" She knelt down to hug him tightly. "Tha'll fare just fine without me, lad. Tha'rt a Kennedy, and never you forget it."

The words would stick with him, although not at that moment. Just then, he didn't hear anything past the initial no. He truly was to be alone in the world, then, with nothing and no one familiar. But he had to be brave, as she said, so when his uncle told him it was time to go, he went, his toy sword clutched in one small fist, and watched out the carriage window as his home disappeared in the distance, and for a long time after.

When he could no longer see anything familiar at all, he turned and faced forward, folding his hands tightly in his lap, his chin quivering as he tried not to cry. He was surprised when his aunt lifted him from his seat and settled him in her lap. After she'd pulled away from him earlier, he'd assumed that she didn't like children, or at least not him, much.

He'd never met his aunt and uncle before, London being quite far from Scotland. He knew that Aunt Sophia was Mummy's sister because Nurse had told him so. She'd also told him that there would be other children in London, cousins, and that he would be happy there.

He didn't feel as though he would ever be happy again at all, but the cakes that his aunt gave him helped a little. She didn't even fuss when he got crumbs down the front of his jacket. 

"It's going to be a long journey," she told him, her breath tickling in his hair. "Three days, but we'll stop now and then, so it won't be so bad. Then when we get home you'll meet your cousins. Edward is the eldest; he's nearly twelve. Emily and Elizabeth are twins; they're ten. Catherine is eight. So they're all a bit older than you but I'm sure you'll be great friends."

She kept talking and feeding him sweets until Uncle Henry warned her that she'd make him sick, so she stopped and just held him. It wasn't nearly as nice as being held by Nurse, but the rocking of the carriage and the warmth of her arms, combined with the rather exhausting sobbing he'd done that morning, lulled him to sleep.

The days passed slowly, and by the third day the numbness he'd felt after the loss of his parents had subsided, leaving him restless and ready to be out of the carriage. He drummed his heels against the seat until his uncle snapped at him to stop, so he knelt on the bench to watch out the window instead. Countryside gave way to more and more buildings, and Archie was astonished at the number of people they passed. He was sure he had never seen so many people in all of his life together, much less in a single day.

Finally they pulled up in front of a large, well-kept house. Archie thought it must be the sort of place to have lots of flowers come spring. Not that he cared much about flowers, but Mummy and Nurse had liked them.

When they went inside, they were greeted by a bespectacled woman who looked like she had a fireplace poker up her back and a lemon in her mouth. She was introduced as Miss Fletcher, and four children, all lined up from biggest to smallest, though even Catherine, called Kitty, towered over him. He was told that Miss Fletcher was the governess, and that he would be in her charge.

He was taken up to the nursery while his cousins spoke to their parents about the events of the past week. He was shown to the little room that would be his and left there. He got the feeling that Miss Fletcher didn't much care for him. She warned him to stay _in_ the nursery and _out_ of trouble, then went to do whatever governesses did when they weren't governing.

Archie didn't much like the idea of being shut up in a room alone, not when there was a whole house to explore. He opened the door and peered out. Seeing no one, he slipped into the corridor and began to wander, trying doors and looking inside the rooms if they weren't locked. He crept down the stairs, not wishing to be caught, and after several turns realized that he'd lost track of how to make his way back to his room. He kept wandering, thinking that surely he would have to come to the stairs again at some point.

The trouble was that when he found the stairs, they weren't the _right_ stairs, and he was more lost than ever. The house wasn't that big, except to a five-year-old who wasn't meant to be wandering, and somehow there wasn't anyone to ask for help.

It seemed like an eternity before someone came by, although in truth it wasn't more than a few minutes. Cook, a stout, middle aged woman wearing an apron dusted with flour, came up the stairs from the kitchen and was startled to find a little boy sitting at the top of them, sniffling as if he was trying not to cry.

"Well hello," she said, once she'd gotten over her surprise. "What's the matter?"

Archie looked up at her, his lower lip trembling. "I don't think I can be brave any longer," he said, and broke down in tears.

"Oh poppet," she said, scooping him up and hugging him tight. "Shh. It's all right." The staff had been told that another child would be coming to stay, and here he was, all by himself and obviously frightened. She rocked him in her arms until his sobs subsided to hiccupping gasps.

"What's your name, poppet?" she asked, smoothing back his hair.

"Ar-chie Ken-ne-dy," he managed, his chest still heaving.

"Do you like cake, Master Kennedy?" she asked, rubbing his back in slow circles.

He nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. "Yes mum," he said softly. It seemed a rather silly question to him; who didn't like cake?

"Come on, then. I think I can spare a bit." She set him down but held his hand as they descended the stairs. She patted a seat at the table where the servants ate and put a late with a small piece of cake on it in front of him.

"When you're done, I'll help you find the family," she said. "Never you worry."

Archie's eyes went wide as he realized that he was likely going to be in trouble for disobeying. "They'll be angry," he whispered. "I was supposed to stay in the nursery. Miss Fletcher said."

"I'll make sure you're not in trouble, poppet," she said. "Don't you fret yourself."

Cook reminded him a bit of Nurse, so he decided he could trust her. He ate his cake, then climbed up into her lap to cuddle until she said she needed to make their meal, and he would have to go back upstairs now. She held his hand until they found his aunt and uncle, where she quickly explained that he'd gotten himself a bit turned around. Luckily, they didn't ask questions, just called for Miss Fletcher to come and fetch him.

"You must mind her," Aunt Sophia said gently while they waited for the governess.

"Yes mum," Archie mumbled, hanging his head, although he had no real intention of staying put if she shut him up alone again. He would just have to be careful not to misplace himself again.

Miss Fletcher bustled in and took his hand, hauling him away with apologies for not watching him more closely. He thought he heard her mumbling as they walked that it 'hadn't been an hour and already making a nuisance of himself'.

Back in the nursery, the other children were gathered, watching him intently. Even Edward was there, although he'd outgrown the nursery by now. He was curious about his little cousin, so he waited with his sisters to see.

"Now don't go wandering," Miss Fletcher snapped, thrusting him into the room. "Any of you." She shut the door, leaving them alone.

"Are you parents really dead?" Emily asked as soon as Miss Fletcher was gone.

Archie blinked, shocked by the abruptness of it. He nodded slowly. "Yes. They're dead," he whispered.

"How did they die?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said, his voice even softer. "Nurse didn't tell me."

"You talk funny," Emily said. "Miss Fletcher won't like that. You'll have to learn to speak properly." She sounded rather smug about it.

Archie didn't say that he thought that they all spoke strangely. He just nodded and went to the shelf of books to find something to read so he had an excuse not to talk.

"Don't mind her," Catherine said, combing up beside him. "She only hopes Miss Fletcher will stop pointing out her own horrible penmanship and lack of grace if she has someone else to fuss over. I'm Kitty."

"Archie," the little boy said. "Miss Fletcher doesn't like me."

"Miss Fletcher only likes Elizabeth, really, because she's boring and always does as she's told. She's perfect and Emily hates that she's never as good as her sister at anything, but she tries. You just have to be good and Miss Fletcher will leave you alone."

Archie didn't think he was going to be very good at being good, but he didn't say so. He just settled down with a book and tried to ignore his cousins' sidelong looks and whispers.

It took a few days, but eventually they grew used to his presence and he became more like a part of the family and less like a little stranger in their midst. Emily had been right about Miss Fletcher not liking how he spoke, and she set about correcting him straight away.

She also seemed to think him a bit slow, and set him to learning his letters when he already knew them, and could even read and write. He was _five_ , after all, hardly a babe in nappies. She finally believed him when he said he could read when he started writing rude words on his slate and holding them up behind his back where the girls could see. He might have gotten away with it if Kitty handled giggled, and he wasn't able to scrub away the word before she whirled around and saw him there.

It earned him a smack across his hands with a ruler, but at least after that she gave him real books to read instead of a silly old primer.

His favorite person in the house was Cook, because she would give him hugs and sweets (more of the former than the latter so he didn't spoil his appetite). He snuck down to the kitchen as often as he could manage (which was most mornings, before anyone else in the family was up, so he got to see the servants starting their days). He was always careful not to get caught, as he didn't think his aunt and uncle would approve. He didn't want to get Cook in trouble, after all.

Still, even with the other children, he was often lonely. Edward wanted nothing to do with him, and all of the things that he was interested in weren't suitable for young ladies. There was no one his age around at all, so he spent a lot of time lost in his own imaginings, or dreaming up ways to get back at Miss Fletcher for whatever punishment (often warranted, but sometimes not) she had meted out.

He was fascinated by the oddities that his uncle had collected over the years, working for the East India Company, but the one he loved best of all was the tiger-skin rug in the library.

He called it Raja ("king" in the Indian language) and its living incarnation was his companion on many an imaginative adventure. One day after Miss Fletcher had been particularly harsh, he imagined sneaking Raja up to her room and having him leap out and gobble her up.

The trouble was, Raja wasn't actually real, or capable of gobbling anyone up. He couldn't be sure, but the tiger that might once have inhabited the skin that now decorated the library might have been eaten himself. That was what one did with an animal after one killed it, he assumed. The best he could manage was to give Miss Fletcher such a fright that she ran off, never to be seen or heard from again. Even in his current innard-less state, Raja could help him with that.

He hatched a plan to remove the rug from the library and carry it upstairs to Miss Fletcher's room, where he would hide it in her wardrobe so when she opened the door, it would fall out on her, rather like a real tiger leaping at her to devour her. Of course, that would mean that he would have to gain access to Miss Fletcher's room, and since the only time he could possibly get Raja from the library would be in the middle of the night, when she would be in her room asleep, he decided that perhaps the big cupboard in the schoolroom might be a better choice. She would still be the first one to open it in the morning, and it would have the added benefit of her mauling being witnessed by his cousins, who would undoubtedly cheer the vanquishing of the governess. 

Archie waited until long after he was sure that everyone else in the household would be asleep, after he'd already been in bed for hours and hours. He'd been sent to bed without supper (although Cook had made sure that a bit of something to eat had made its way up to him regardless) and he was not going to put up with Miss Fletcher's persecution for one more day if he could help it.

He snuck out of his room, and everything seemed quiet, so he crept down the corridor and to the stairs. Peering down, he still didn't see any movement, nor hear any sound save the creaking of some of the woodwork as it settled. He stole down the steps and to the library, crouching to pat Raja's head and whisper his plan into the tiger's ear so he would know what was going on. He then grabbed the rug by its paws and started to pull him towards the door.

Archie had failed to consider the fact that the tiger skin might weigh more than he did, or very nearly, and was certainly larger than him. It took a great deal of effort to drag it after him through the halls, and furthermore, made more noise than he could have imagined. He draped it over himself as best he could to try and get as much of it off the ground as he could. Even so, the hind legs and tail brushed along the ground, and nearly toppled a small side table, making a clattering sound as it settled back on its feet.

The little boy held his breath, hoping that no one had heard. He didn't hear anyone after a minute, so he kept on, making it to the bottom of the stairs and beginning the laborious process of ascending them, one step at a time.

"How is it," a voice whispered, nearby but not too close, "that there has come to be a tiger wandering through the corridor?"

Archie stopped dead in his tracks, biting his lip and trying to think what to do. Finally, he did what any proper tiger (London townhouse tiger or not) would do – he growled.

"I hope, Mister Tiger," said the voice, which Archie recognized as belonging to one of the footmen, "that you haven't eaten Master Archie. One of the maids went to clear away his tray and found that he wasn't in bed, and I would hate to think that he'd become a tiger's supper."

Archie tried to growl again, but it came out sounding a bit like a giggle. 

"I think it would be best, Mister Tiger," the footman started, but was cut off. 

The tiger interrupted in his best growly tiger voice. "My name is Raja."

"Well, Mister Raja Tiger, sir, I think it would be best if you were to return to the library, as tigers are strictly forbidden from going upstairs." The voice was closer now, at the foot of the stairs. He could have reached out and tugged the tiger's tail if he wanted.

The little boy knew then that there was no way he was going to get away with this. He turned slowly to face the footman, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Rar?" he tried.

The footman clutched at his chest as if in shock. "Master Archie!" he said, his voice still quiet so as not to draw attention. "You haven't been eaten after all! Or have you?"

"Only a little," Archie said.  
"I'm glad to hear that. We would all certainly miss you if you were gone." He reached out to chuck the little boy under the chin, a liberty that perhaps he wouldn't dare with the other children, but Cook had practically adopted him as her own, and he spent enough time in the kitchen around the servants that he felt sure that he would be safe. "Let's get the tiger back in his cage, shall we?"

"Yes sir," Archie said, a bit sheepish. Of course he didn't have to call the servants sir, but it popped out out of habit. "Will I be in trouble?"

"I think not," the footman replied. "It can't be helped if a tiger tried to eat you, can it?"

"No sir," he said, giggling. 

"Right then. Come on." He helped Archie return the tiger rug to the library, making sure it was in exactly the same place it had been before its promenade through the house. Once that was done, he reached for the little boy's hand. "Time for you to be back in bed, Master Archie."

Archie slid his fingers into the man's much larger palm and let himself be led back upstairs. He was quietly tucked back in, and was asleep practically before the footman shut the door.

Not a word was said about the incident the next day, or any day following. After that, though, any time Archie saw that particular footman, they shared a secret smile. 

It took time, but Archie settled into the routine of the place. He hated having to take his lessons with the girls, but he wasn't old enough yet to have lessons with Edward's tutors. He would be expected to know at least the basics before then, and that meant putting up with Miss Fletcher. He did enjoy art lessons, even though he wasn't particularly skilled, simply because he would find ways to sneak in all of the ways he could dream up for Miss Fletcher to meet her demise in them. In every drawing and painting he did, her spectacles, bent or broken or chewed up, appeared somewhere, although she never seemed to notice. 

On his sixth birthday, which happened a few months after his arrival, he got the best present he could ever imagine. Of course he never knew it, but the footman had managed to get word up through the ranks to the Master's manservant, who had managed to subtly put into his ear that perhaps, with such a spirited young boy, it might be wise to give him something that would give him a positive outlet for his energy. In fact, he thought he knew just the thing.

Which was how it came to be that after they'd had a bit of cake (Cook had made it special) he was taken out to the garden to receive his gift. He hoped it would be a pony, because the only one he had to ride now was Edward's old, lazy, fat, outgrown one that was far more interested in rifling his pockets for apples and other treats than actually taking a turn around the property. 

He looked around, not seeing a pony, and his face fell. "I... don't see anything," he said softly. 

"It's coming," his uncle said, his hand resting on the little boy's shoulder lightly. "Have patience."

Archie chewed his lip, trying very, very hard to be patient. Finally he saw one of the stablemen coming around the corner, holding the end of a leather lead, attached to which was a...

"You got me a _bear_?" Archie asked, looking up at his uncle in both awe and alarm. "A baby bear?"

His Uncle threw his head back and laughed, and Archie would have been _most_ insulted if, at that moment, the stableman hadn't dropped the end of the leash and allowed the ball of black fluff to come charging at him.

Once he saw its floppy ears and the way its tongue lolled out of its mouth, Archie realized that it wasn't a bear at all. It was a dog, a puppy, it would seem, by the exuberant way that it attacked the little boy, nearly knocking him straight over. He threw his arms around it and they tumbled to the grass, wrestling as the puppy licked Archie's face all over.

"She's your responsibility," Uncle said. "You'll have to make sure that she's fed and given proper exercise and brushed. She has quite a lot of fur, as you can see, and will only have more as she grows bigger."

"Will she grow very large?" Archie asked.

"Oh, I daresay," Uncle Henry said with a chuckle. "You'll want to make very sure that you train her to walk nicely beside you, or it won't be long before she's dragging you up one side the garden and down the other." He hadn't mentioned to his wife just what sort of dog he would be getting for Archie, because he knew that she would have a fit. The dog would quickly come to outweigh the boy, and if not taught its manners, would be a menace.

It was too late now, though. The little boy and the puppy were already fast friends. "What shall I call you?" he asked her, rubbing her ears while she chewed on the lace of his boot. He frowned in thought, his eyebrows drawing together in consternation before his features lit up. "I know! I shall call you Ursa!" He looked up at his uncle. "Won't that be a good name for her?" he asked.

Uncle Henry smiled. "I think that's a perfect name for her, Archie," he said, bending down to pat both of their heads. "Come inside when you're ready. Make sure she does her business before you do."

"Yes sir," he said. He trusted that one of the servantswould tell him just exactly what business she was supposed to be doing before he managed to make a mess of it.

 

After that day, Archie was rarely seen without Ursa at his side. Miss Fletcher didn't allow the dog into the schoolroom, which Archie thought was unfair, but his aunt and uncle said that she was the one who made the rules for that part of his life, and if she didn't want to teach Ursa her letters and sums, that was her prerogative. He would simply have to teach her on himself, once he'd completed his own lessons for the day.

Of course he couldn't _really_ teach her how to read or do math, but with the help of some of the stable hands and footmen, he did manage to teach her proper canine manners such as sit, stay, and heel. Heel was, as his uncle predicted, absolutely vital, because puppies grow much more quickly than young boys, and if she had had a mind to take off with Archie at the other end of the leash, it would have been the dog walking the boy, rather than the other way around.

They spent as much time outdoors as they could. Archie liked to walk to the park and sail his little toy boat that he'd made in the pond. Sometimes he saw children splashing along the edges of it, an activity that seemed to concern Ursa great deal. He would have to yank hard on the leash to convince her to keep walking. 

One day the temperature climbed to the point where it was impossible to concentrate on lessons at all, even in the relative cool of the house. Somehow his cousins managed to convince their parents to allow them to the park to go swimming. They packed up their swimming costumes and a picnic lunch and made the walk in record time. 

His cousins plunged right into the water, having all learned to swim. Archie, though, had never been in the water before, or at least not past his knees. He waded in more carefully, watching Edward and Kitty and the twins splashing about. He would have thought that Kitty, at least, might have remained behind with him. 

"Stay, Ursa," he told his dog as she edged nearer and neared the bank. "Good girl."

He took another step, then another, and suddenly slipped on a rock and sunk under the surface. He came up sputtering to find that Ursa had leapt in after him and was making her way to him with all haste. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. "It's okay," he said. "I'm all right. I just slipped."

She looked at him disapprovingly, and if dogs could frown, she most assuredly was when he took her back to dry land and told her to stay again. He ventured out another few steps, and made a few feeble attempts at paddling before he got frightened and turned around... to find Ursa directly behind him again. 

"What are you doing?" he asked her. "Go back and _stay_ , you naughty dog." 

But she wouldn't stay, no matter how much he told her to and no matter how many times he took her back. Finally he just gave up. It was obvious that she was a good swimmer – she made it out to Edward and back again faster than the girls could – so it wasn't hurting her, was it, to be out here? And it was reassuring to have her nearby as he tried to work out the mechanics of this whole swimming lark.

The only trouble was that it was difficult to swim when you had a very large, very determined dog wedging herself under your arm and attempting to tow you back to shore any time you got past the point that she decided was too deep. While she stuck mainly to his side, she seemed to have the same disapproving attitude with all of the children, and every one of them was assisted in their return to shallower water at least once, whether they liked it or not.

By the end of the afternoon, he could manage a passable dog paddle, and was utterly exhausted from struggling with Ursa all day. She, on the other hand, didn't seem to be even the least bit tired, and in fact looked quite proud of herself that she was returning home with all of the children in tow, unscathed and without the least hint of having potentially drowned.

"But _why_ did she do it?" Archie asked his uncle that night. "It was as if she didn't want me to swim at all!"

"That's what Newfoundlands are bred to do, Archie," Uncle explained. "They're meant to rescue people from the water. She only thought she was helping."

"Oh. Well then she's very good at it," Archie said. It only solidified in his mind the thing that he'd suspected all along – Ursa was the best dog in the world. Nothing and no one would ever convince him otherwise.


End file.
